


Grab The Bull By The Horns

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: AU's FOR YOU [11]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bull Riding, First Meetings, M/M, Mandy is literally a saint, rodeo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:41:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4270479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was official, for once Mandy's begging and helpless pleading to get Mickey to join her at the Rodeo had paid off."</p><p>Ethan asked : " Hey gurllll, because you luuuv meh, I need you do this something for me, or I'll gut you. I NEED a fic where Ian is a hot, bull rider at the Rodeo and Mickey goes to see him for the first time. (( you know how much I love cowboys;)) "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grab The Bull By The Horns

**Author's Note:**

> I based this loosely from The scenes in The Longest Ride Lol - that film made me cry, and I instantly imagined them as the characters as soon as I saw YOUR PROMPT ETHAN!!! 
> 
> I HOPE YOU LIKE IT LAD! I KNOW YOU DID THIS BECAUSE IT'S MY BIRTHDAY NEXT WEEK AND YOU WANTED ME TO CRY WITH HAPPINESS BECAUSE I LOVE THIS AU, YOU LITTLE TURD. ... I don't love you, okay, maybe I do. I know you love these boys as much as I do, and I'm going to be happy to cry with you on Monday morning about this. So yeah, read it biatch.

Mickey follows Mandy through the make-shift hole that they had planned to be their entrance. “Tell me again, why the fuck I let you drag my ass here?”

It was official, for once Mandy's begging and helpless pleading to get Mickey to join her at the Rodeo had paid off. Mickey had grunted a response, which apparently was a _yes_ in her books. They had drove down in one of Iggy's pick-ups, arriving with no invitation or tickets, Mandy had found a hole at the back – the one she used every time she said. It was a grungy looking thing, the hole filled with fag butts and empty cans of beer that were rotting in a old, tainted stench. Mickey didn't mind it much, the smell was almost as bad as Terry's body odour and lingering trail of whisky.

Mandy wipes her hands against her shorts, laughing mockingly towards Mickey as his back-pack caught against the jagged edge of the small entrance. Mickey grunts, pulling at his bag before stepping up next to his sister, still reluctant to be there. Mandy punches him in the arm, hard. Mickey lets out a hiss, pinching at the skin of her exposed waist. “What the fuck was that for, bitch?”

She knocks him away, before smacking his shoulder. “Fuck off, asshole.” She smacks his shoulder again. “One; I didn't drag your ass here. Your ass is too heavy for me to carry and _even_ if I did, you agreed to this shit. So, deal with it.”

Mickey frowns, pulling out his pack of smokes. He's not fast enough to dodge Mandy's hand striking him in the shoulder, _again._

“ _Two,”_ She's still talking. Mickey's unsure whether or not to just retreat back through the hole, grab the car and never come back. Instead, he stands and listens to the torture of Mandy's bitching. “Do you realise that this place is full of _huge_ dicks-”

Mickey scoffs, walking forward from underneath the rows of seats already occupied by Rodeo-fanatics, girls in tight mini-skirts, numerous cowboy hats that looked _even_ worse up close. “Yeah, I figured that.”

Mandy adjusts her crop top, sighing heavily. “If you let me fucking finish, I was going to describe all the great pieces of ass that you could be hitting tonight.”

They reach the seats, trying to look as innocent as possible whilst carrying the shiftiest expressions known to man. Mickey eyes up the stands, looking for someone reasonably looking and playing for his field. _Blonde; tight jeans, mediocre dick size most likely, muscles the size of Jupiter. Nah, he'd get crushed. Brunette; slightly smaller, bigger package, nice ass; oh, and he's got a girlfriend, wife, whatever. Nope._ Mickey eventually gives up, sitting down in a huff into his shitty seat. “Nah, I can deal with what I can get back home.”

Mandy nudges her foot against his, already checking out the prime pieces of eye-candy. She sits next to Mickey, pulling a bottle of beer from his bag. She cheers with the drunken crowd as a group of riders form behind the rails, all talking and preparing for what Mickey knew was going to be the most boring, shit-show of his life. Mandy leans towards his ear, whispering with her head tilted to the blonde Mickey had been checking out prior, “I hear cowboys _fuck_ like machines.”

Mickey scoffs, shoving her away. “Bullshit.”

“Nah, that's behind the ring.” She points to the _actual_ shit piled behind the fence. He rolls his eyes, becoming itchy in his seat, uncomfortable at all levels. Mandy laughs, nodding towards a guy looking her way. “I mean, come on, if a dude can ride a bull like _that,_ God fucking knows how they'd ride me.”

Mickey's had enough hearing about his sisters needs; he's heard the evidence _way_ too many times to handle. Fucking thin walls. He pulls out a beer, that he finds in his bag, and pops the cap. “I know this is America, land of the fucking free, but I seriously don't want to hear about your fetishes about idiots in tight jeans, and stupid, ugly hats.” He downs his beer; fuck this bullshit, anyway.

Mandy hums, sipping at her beer. “You love it really. I know you do.”

Mickey nudges her leg. “Fuck off.”

“You're saying that you wouldn't hit _that?”_ Mandy points to the same Blonde that they had both checked out on the way in.

“Nope. Fuck off.”

Mandy's eyes widen, mouth full of beer. “ _Seriously?!_ You wouldn't-”

“ _Fuck off.”_ Mickey shoves at her arm, pushing her a little. She's spewing beer from her laughing lips, giggling to herself. Mickey grins, a little hyped on small amount of beer mixed within his stomach.

Mandy downs her own beer, placing it by her feet once it was empty. She stands up, cheering with the rest of the crowd. “Come on, Mick, live a little.” She grabs at his arm, pulling him up with any ounce of strength she had been secretly hiding from him. In a huff, Mickey lets her, crossing his arms over as he looked through the crowd to an empty tournament.

“ _Why the fuck are we waiting?!”_ Mandy shouts over the crowd, throwing her first in the air with the aggression of a seven-foot, steroid taking, body builder. She nudges at Mickey's side, talking a little quieter. “You excited?”

It was obvious that Mandy was lifted with excitement, her skin was even sparkling towards the empty ring, like some twilight inspired shit.

Mickey snorts, keeping his gaze onto the sandy field below, where it looked like all the last preparations were being made. It was just clear enough, over the heads of all the carolling idiots, a line of men, all wearing those _stupid_ hats, waiting to ride the viscous bulls. “Totally. I'm literally shitting myself with excitement.” He answers, sarcastically, reaching down to grab another beer.

After another 30 minutes, another five beers and two shots of whisky, and one piss break, the tournament finally started, _and_ Mickey wanted to die on the spot. Mandy was cheering and yelling like some mad dog that needed to be leashed, her hands all over the place drunkenly, as a tall-man stepped into the middle of the sand-filled field, a microphone firm in his hand.

Mickey sighs, muttering under Mandy's whooping. “Here we fucking go.”

After most of the crowd, apart from the group at the bottom who wouldn't _shut the fuck up,_ calmed down the man speaks with confidence. “Well, hello, Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls.” The crowd cheers, wildly, all going crazy as the guy announces absolutely nothing. Mickey feels himself deteriorating slowly.

“My name is Tommy, but you folks and just call me Tom, and I – _yes me –_ am here to welcome you to our _15_ _th_ Annual Bull-riding Tournament.” Tom, Tommy, whatever the fuck ever, yells out a sound of excitement, thoroughly matching that of the crowds, and Mandy's constant wails and screeches of happiness.

Mickey's just deciding whether or not to kill the guy.

Tom, Tommy, what the fuck ever, waves his hands in the air. “Yeah, Yeah. You folks just calm down now, we got a big night a head of us.” He laughs, winking towards the ladies all piled up at the fence opposite to their stand.

 _Get me the fuck out of here._ Mickey wishes his own winners luck.

“I hope y'all placed your bets, because the Tournament starts in, _three, two, one..._ let the riding begin!” Tom, Tommy, what the fuck ever, shouts towards the crowd. Everyone sat around Mickey, even Mandy was jumping around, was jumping, cheering, applauding about as the first attendee was introduced and sat on-top of his bull, chosen from the pot of names that they all had to reach into.

Mickey wasn't really paying attention.

“ _Oh,”_ Mandy yells, laughing too loud. “ _Yes,_ let the riding begin!”

Mickey wants to hurl. The rider has a grip around the bull, the fence rattling as the beast started to get rowdy. “Jesus Fucking Christ.”

Mandy swigs from her beer, kicking at the side of Mickey's boot. “Wipe that stupid look off your face, it's ugly.” Mickey shakes his head, willing to drown himself in alcohol the more she spoke. Mandy kicks him again, cheering mid-setence before turning back to Mickey. “John Harrow. Hot as fuck. Nice ass. Good rider. Won last Tournament, good strength in his knees, you know...”

Mandy continues to ramble on, Mickey's eyes trail elsewhere, watching as John Harrow struggles to stay seated against his bull, looking more nervous now but Mickey could sense confidence a mile off. John Harrow looks towards the crowd, sending them a smirk of smugness. The alarm signalled, the metal gates opening, letting out John Harrow strapped to the aggressive bulls back, the animal trying its hardest to bucker him off.

Mickey taps his foot, growing bored. This shit was _way_ overrated, and by the sounds of the girls squealing at the fence, it was obvious he wasn't giving it in the ass anytime soon; sack that, _never._ Harrow stays on the animals back under six seconds before he's thrown off with sudden force, landing against his feet in the middle of the ring. The crowd claps. Mickey hopes the guy has broken his toe or something.

Mandy tuts her lip, sighing with sympathy. “Shame he lasted longer on that bull than he did in me.” She laughs at Mickey's scrunched up, disgusted, face that wanted to be as far away as possible.

“Like I told you,” Mickey hums, drinking down some more beer. “I can deal with the shit I can get back home.”

Mickey looks at the ring once more, not knowing anything about the process of the game, or tournament, whatever it was classed as in today's society. The only thing he did know, just from one attempt, was that anyone sitting on the back of an angered fucking bull was just plain stupid and simply suicidal.

Once the first round was over, Mickey made sure that he'd drink the whole contents of the alcohol in his bag. All of it. This was definitely _not_ his thing. Everything about this place made his skin crawl; he rather be shooting at tin cans in the middle of the abandoned buildings, a bottle of whisky still in his hand.

He watches the next three riders, all of them as shit as the first, watching but not really channelling it as Mandy drags him down to the front fence, up close to the ring itself. Instead, he picks at his nails, laughing at each fall, downing his drinks. He lets Mandy babble on about hot asses, and who was the best lay, most of it was surrounding the top of who _lasts_ the longest. Both on the bull and in the bedroom.

Mickey's interest was buried so low, it felt it had been dead for over a hundred years.

Suddenly, Mickey feels the air change around him, the sound of Mandy gasping beside him drawing him away from his thoughts.

Mandy slaps her hand against his arm, over and over, pleadingly. “Holy shit. That's him. That's the rider.”

Mickey turns his gaze to the ring, feeling a bolt of lightning shooting to the tip of his dick. _Holy fucking shit._ “Who?” He asks, wondering if his sister was looking at what he couldn't stop staring at.

Walking up to the fence, ready to take the bull, walked a tall, slender but toned, Redhead. His hair was slicked back, red like wildfire, one strand falling against his tanned, freckled forehead. He wore a pair of black, tight jeans that hugged his ass perfectly, the curve of the cushion like a gift from the God's, all perky and waiting to be grabbed with a rough hand. His face, _God_ those lips, they were taunting, like they were laughing, all sweet but filled with a dark tinge that Mickey felt himself tingle inside looking at them. He gulps a few times, trying to swallow down the gasp awaiting to emerge from his throat, that he _knew_ would sound as pathetic as Mandy's.

Mickey can't take his eyes off him – it seemed like a trance he felt himself unwanting to break free from. _God, get a grip, Mickey._

Mandy must notice, hell – she does, she nudges Mickey harder this time. She smiles, as if she agrees with him, as if she was thinking the exact same thing. “Good, huh?” She winks, leaning against the fence, Mickey doesn't speak, he just drinks more than he should. “ _That,_ big brother, is Ian Gallagher. The only rider that I hasn't fucked me yet.”

Mickey raises his brow, shocked, “ _Only?_ Jesus, Mandy.”

She shrugs, yelling something out before chuckling. “What? I have needs.”

Instead, Mickey changes his sight towards the toned, _hot as fuck,_ Redhead that heaved himself up onto the fence. He sported a red flannel, adding a black Stetson that covered his red, tussled hair. Mickey wanted to see that hair all over again. He was pleading for it, like some bitch in heat.

The guy, _Gallagher,_ looks around the crowd, waving cheekily and practically beaming with euphoria and Mickey felt himself on verge of drooling at this point. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, only finding small remains of his beer against his lips. Thank God. The Redhead climbs over the fence, a couple of guys slap his back as the crowd start to go wild.

Gallagher skilfully hops onto the bulls back, grabbing the rope around it as it started to struggle under the reigns. He adjusts his hat with one hand, as the other clenches tightly around the rope, letting his last smile shadow the crowd before the alarm rang out. He held tightly to his seat on the bull as the gates open loose, the bull charging through it aggressively, violently, trying to bucker the kid off its back.

Mickey felt himself grow fascinated by the sight before him. It wasn't the fact the man was insanely _hot,_ (Even though that was entertaining enough, hell – he could look at that face, that body, all day.) it was the way he held onto that angry bull, his concentration fixed to staying putt, his hand swiftly moving in the air as he controlled his body with the direction of the shoving and kicking of the beast below him. There was still a smile, faint at his lips, confidence glowing from his skin as he reached over five seconds. It was strange. It was alien that Mickey was struck by it, glued to the sight of this guy, _Gallagher,_ riding this bull like he was born to do it.

Somehow, it held Mickey's interest more than just a little.

To Mickey's dismay, after eight and a half seconds the ride was over, Gallagher jumping to his feet as the bull kicked his ass off of it. Mickey's mouth dropped open, the crowd was going insane around him. Apparently nearly hitting nine seconds was a winners streak, because the guy was smiling wide, waving around the cheerful, excited crowd, satisfied with himself and his efforts.

 _Now,_ Mickey was the one yearning to be satisfied.

Mickey wasn't one to clap, but Mandy was clapping like the guy had won the World Cup, and he couldn't help himself from applauding the guys moves and the way his hips had rolled and flexed against the back of the bull.

The slowly dying down crowd rivalled back up as the bull turned from his anger and charged towards Gallagher. Mickey gasped, as did the crowd; this guy was going to die and he hadn't fucked Mickey yet. The Redhead bolts, running towards the fence Mickey and Mandy were pressed against, he jumps on the metal, his hat falling off and hitting at Mickey's feet.

The crowd cheer over and over, chanting the kids name. Mickey finally gets a look close up, his eyes tracing each feature that stood out against the guys skin. It was even better. The guy had to be a couple of years younger than him, his face was splattered with freckles, pale skin tanned at the bottom of his neck where his flannel shirt met his skin. His arms were toned, even from inside of his shirt. Mickey felt himself water at the mouth.

Once the bull was led off, its grunts and growls still echoing, Mickey could literally feel the guys breath as he exhaled heavily in relief. Mickey wondered whether this happened frequently. The guy jumps off the fence, checking Mickey once or twice before nodding his head as he turned his back.

Mickey looks at the hat at his feet. “Hey, Asshole!” Mickey yells, grabbing the hat in his hands and pushing it through the fence. The Redhead turns, shocked a little, eyes widening as he addresses Mickey calling out to him. He almost sounds happy, relieved that Mickey had actually said something.

“Hm?” Gallagher raises his brow.

Mickey nearly stutters, for some unexplainable reason. “You dropped your hat.”

The Redhead shrugs his shoulders, smiling towards him with a glistening grin that sent sparks straight to Mickey's dick. _God._ “Thanks, but, uh, you can keep it.”

 _Wait, what?_ Mickey scrunches his brow, a little confused with the answer. Mandy is nudging at his side, giggling like a five-year old high off sugar. The Redhead winks, he fucking _winks,_ and Mickey feels his stomach twist into knots. The rider walks off, the bell that had been attached to the bull in his hand, he walks off, passing the bell to a boy in the audience. Mickey feels himself burn up, without a thought in process, he places the hat on his head.

Through the crowd, Mickey can only hear Mandy yelling over the shouts. “Holy fucking shit!” She slaps his arm, over and over, in excitement. “You're totally hitting that ass tonight. I can't believe my brother got _the_ Ian Gallagher before I fucking did!”

Mickey rolls his eyes, adjusting the hat as he grabbed another beer. _It was just a fucking hat. Okay._

_***_

Ian scans the packed, noisy, bruted bar, trying to locate a empty stool that he could sit on and have a cold beer. The ride had been good, _brilliant._ He had nearly hit nine seconds, and after falling last year that was definitely an improvement. He shifts his weight against his other leg, trying to balance out the aching pain he felt in his thighs. He really should rest. Sleep probably. Beer was calling him, and he hoped to see that guy he locked eyes with back at the ring.

Months of exhaustion, friction burn, draining practice hadn't really prepared him for the real thing.

Why he had took himself to this grungy bar _was_ a question and a half.

He hears a familiar cheer, a low, gravelling voice that only belonged to one person. His brother; Lip. Ian can't help but grin, Lip had been to every single ride since he had started five years back. (Even though he still felt reluctant to watch after Ian nearly died in the ring.) Ian flips him off, tilting his head as Lip held to a girls waist, moving her around with his terrible impression of a line dancer.

Ian feels a little lonely, like usual; one night stands don't cuddle you at night, nor do they care if your knee hurts like fuck. He elbows his way through the dancing crowd, earning a couple of _Well done, kid_ 's and pats to the back. He feels a rush of pain circuit its way through his body, knee slightly trembling. He burst through the swinging doors, sucking in a deep breath as his body hits the cold, night air.

His shoes knock against the dirt walk as Ian ambles his way out of the doorway, nodding his head towards the groups of guys he usually hung out with after a ride. A few meters away was his usual spot to breathe. He walks over to it, leaning against the metal bar. His muscles tighten in his arms, aching irritably, and he grunts loudly, hissing at the crack dwelling in the bottom of his back.

Just as the pain started to subside, Ian caught movement in the corner of his eye. It was Lip probably, coming up to check on him, or to tell him not to come home too early because he'd be fucking the day lights out of some chick he found in the bar. Ian lifts his head, glancing over to the other rail, glaring at the man, who was definitely _not_ his brother.

 _No,_ this guy was new.

Ian takes in the dudes dark-black hair that peeked through his black Stetson and curious, angered expression. Suddenly, the realization hits him. That's _his_ hat. He steps up, walking over slowly. He bites his lip nervously; the guy seemed a little aggravated, or aroused, either way it made him just a little bit nervous. Something that never happened.

The brunette's eyes flicker to his. Ian clasps his hands behind his back. “Er, Hi.” Ian smiles, a little shyly, before his drops his gaze completely.

The guy pushes back from the metal rail, shuffling up to a straightened posture. He stepped with confidence, even if he looked a little cracked inside, maybe a little drunk to think of it. The contradiction had Ian intrigued, hooked. Ian chews at his lip, finally looking over to the swirled, blue eyes shadowed by the large, cowboy hat that looked insanely similar to his. He swipes a hand over the back of his neck, then it clicked.

This was the guy from the stands. _The_ guy he couldn't stop thinking about.

He couldn't help the smile cracking upon his face, remembering the low and gravel voice that called after him at the ring, it was anger, and a little exasperated, as if the guy had been scolding, ready for a fight, _just_ for leaving his hat behind. The guy didn't look like part of the scene, nor did he look like he was ecstatic about it either. Ian found it more than endearing.

The brunette bites at his lip, huffing out a laugh. “Hey, uh.”

Ian points to the hat, “It suits you, man.” he bites down on his lip, noticing how unsteady his voice was. _God fucking damn it._

The brunette hums, a dark laugh leaving his lips as he scrubbed a hand over his face. He tips his head back, light hitting his pale face. It was a stark but nice contrast to the black felt of the cowboy hat.

His gaze flickers to Ian's, face flushing slightly as much as he tried to pull it off as a hardened, tough expression that Ian guessed the guy was known for. The brunette shuffles on his feet, before pulling the hat off his head.

He offers it back to Ian, face grumpy, but cute. “Shit, man. You probably want this back.” Ian instantly knows, due to the differed accent, that this guy was not from around here. City, mostly. To think of it, this guy looked a hell a lot like Mandy, the girl who insisted in getting in his pants, _despite_ the fact he had told her numerous times that dick was the only thing that did it for him.

To think of it, she had pointed out that she had a brother.

Ian shakes his head, chuckling. “Nah, I told you; keep it.”

The guy raises his brow, giving him a sceptical look. “First thing, I ain't a charity case. Second thing, stop looking at me like that. _Third_ thing-”

Ian snorts, “There's more?”

The guy bites his lip, _shit_ those lips, and nods. “Yes, now shut the fuck up, _cowboy.”_ The brunette shakes himself, hat still in hand, before he adds. “ _Thirdly,_ you don't get to say what I keep and what I don't. What if I don't _want_ to fucking keep it?”

This guy had balls. For sure. Ian knows that he shouldn't mess with this guy, or even try, _but_ he knows he wants to know more. He shrugs, stepping closer. “Fine. You don't want it, I'll take it back.”

“Nah, man, I'll keep it.” The brunette changes his attitude, grinning cheekily. This guy was changeable, interesting even, and Ian – well, he _needed_ to get to know this guy more. He was even thinking of it as a requirement.

The brunette slowly places it back on his head, wiggling it into place. It was placed wrong, Ian snorts. It's placed low that it blocked his line of vision. The brunette huffs out a laugh, scratching at the side of his face in a nervous gesture. Ian laughs out loud, humming as it filtered. Ian steps forward, ducking his head so he could catch the brunettes eyesight.

He hesitates before he moves. “Can I, or will you rip my hand clean off?” Ian asks, gesturing to his hat.

The brunette squints, tilting his head. “Go ahead, wise guy.” Ian thinks that he might have no hand after this. He moves forward, hands shaking a little when the guy glares daggers into his face, he feels the brunette's warmth radiate and itch over his skin.

Swallowing harshly, he stops. The brunette grunts, swatting his wrist. “What's taking you so long, cowboy, get a fucking move on before the sun rises.”

Ian only laughs, pressing his lips together as he reaches up and grabs the edges of the hat with the tips of his fingers, angling it back so it now rested on the crown of his head other than all over his pretty, really _fucking pretty,_ face. He drops his hands almost instantly.

“ _Now_ that's how to wear a Stetson, _properly.”_ Ian announces, grinning towards the boy that looked like he could kill someone with his pinky finger. Ian grins wider.

The guy smacks his chest, mockingly. “ _Thank fucking god_ for that.” His sarcastic tone is nothing more than arousal in Ian's ears. He curses to himself before kicking a piece of dirt with the tip of his boot. “I'm, uh, I'm Mickey.” He said in a rasping tone, as if he was trying to catch his breath. “In case you wanted to set your pretty boys on a hunt for the fucker who stole your stupid hat.”

Ian giggles, scratching the back of his neck. This guy thought his hat was _stupid,_ and _oh_ Ian loved that. He licks his lips, “I'm -”

“Ian Gallagher.”

Ian nods, clicking his tongue, his eyes fluttering shut with amusement. How had he been so stupid? Of course Mickey knew who he was; he had rode that bull in-front of all of those people.

When he opens his eyes, he notices that Mickey hasn't moved, but his face had changed into a questioning expression, his eyes wide with confusion – or was it interest? Hm. Ian doesn't like the nervous feeling in his chest, or maybe he did, this guy made him unsure, made him nervous all over, something that never happened when Ian talked to a guy. Or anyone, really.

 _So,_ with the strength he had left from the ride, Ian decided to just grab the bull by the horns. _God, that pun wasn't even funny._ He steps forward, hands in his pockets. “So, uh, you want a drink?” Maybe two, hey, maybe one back at home?

Mickey starts laughing, giving him _are you fucking serious_ face, or so Ian thought. It was clear that this guy had a hard exterior, and Ian was more intrigued in to what he was like on the inside. _Jesus, Puns, again?_

Mickey waves his hand sloppily, scoffing loudly. “Man, I think I should be the one offering you a fucking drink. _Unless,_ you know, one of your brutes is already thinking about doing that.” He nods his head towards the group of guys eyeing up Ian.

Ian smiles, playfully, cocking his head to the side. Those guys were nothing in comparison to Mickey.“That's not how things work around here.” He teases. Plus, he really wanted to treat this guy to some sort of drink, something different to the beer he watched him continue to drown himself in.

“Fine, Gallagher.” Mickey waves his hand, giving in. He cocks a smile, trying to hide his flushed face behind the shadow of the hat. He begins to walk back on his path, towards the bar, Ian follows. Mickey shrugs. “If you're buying, I don't really give a shit how things work around this place.”


End file.
